spring
Public Service Announcement: Writing haiku is good for your health
Welcome to the third installment of readers’ quarantine haiku. Thank you for sending in these gems. I love them. (Reminder: if yours hasn’t been posted yet, wait a day or so, I’ll get to it. And keep them coming!) Let’s start with flowers because . . . flowers! After winter, flowers. What a […]
MoreKeep them coming! More haikus for you . . .
(Please note: If you sent in a haiku and you haven’t seen it here yet, have patience! I have an abundance of haiku which is so much nicer than an abundance of caution.) Here’s a lovely dose of spring from Patti Russo of Bloomington, Indiana (a perfectly-named town for the season): Sunshine on a […]
MoreA little something for what ails you
It’s just-spring here in Michigan and each little green shoot is a jigger of encouragement. So is this poem, “Thank You” by Ross Gay, which I left in a pile of dead leaves at the end of a church parking lot. Thank You by Ross Gay If you find yourself half naked and barefoot […]
MoreThe first time ever I saw your face
Face to Face by Tomas Tranströmer translated by Patty Crane In February existence stood still. The birds didn’t fly willingly and the soul chafed against the landscape as a boat chafes against the dock it lies moored to. The trees stood with their backs to us. Snow-depth was measured by dead […]
MoreFleeting forsythia, finally
I found this poem last spring, just after the last forsythia bush had turned green. I had to wait a whole year for the next blooming, and then I found that the poem is absolutely right. No one does plant forsythia anymore. The forsythia I found was mostly on private property. Private property with overgrown […]
MoreSoon and very soon
March 1912 –Postcard, en route westward by Natasha Trethewey At last we are near breaking the season, shedding our coats, the gray husk of winter. Each tree trembles with new leaves, tiny blossoms, the flashy dress of […]
MoreSpring clean-up for Poem Elf
I don’t often have the chance to monitor my poem-elfings once they’re up. I do wonder what happens to the poems I’ve left behind, but I don’t pursue my curiosity. It’s the fate of former boyfriends in the pre-Facebook age. They may have grown bald, fat and alcoholic, but we used to be […]
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